


Tales From A Refugee

by BattleScarredRaven



Series: Tales of the Guardians [1]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25489267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BattleScarredRaven/pseuds/BattleScarredRaven
Summary: A group of refugees find a lone Titan out in the wilds while trying to seek the safety of the Last City.Turns out they happened to stumble across one of the most apathetic Guardians in the world.
Series: Tales of the Guardians [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1846441
Kudos: 13





	1. The Opposite of a Titan

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of an ongoing (and rather long!) series of Lore-style fanfics I've been writing since lockdown began. I hope you enjoy!

**_“Growing up hearing tales about Guardians, you begin to have a certain image in your mind about them. Like Titans; they are tall, strong, resolute, valorous, warriors, protectors. The one that stood before me that day… seemed anything but.”_ ** \- The Refugee.

* * *

_We had been running from those four-armed roaches for a long time, trying to cross Old Russia to reach the European Dead Zone, our last stop before pushing for the Last City itself. We had tried once before, but then the Red War had happened, and our previous leader, Sjurn, wisely decided it would be best to hide out here in the wastes until it was safe. Now it fell to me to try again, to lead this group to sanctuary._

_It still wasn’t safe. I sure as hell knew that. But once we heard the faint signal of a beacon coming from far across the tundra, we couldn’t just ignore it. That was hope, right there, and we could either die living in fear, or die trying to reach it. And maybe, just maybe, one of us might make it out alive, and if so, then everything we worked for, fought for, died for, was worth it, as Sjurn would say._

_Maybe that old Awoken hardhead was onto something, there._

_We pressed on whenever we could, mainly moving at dawn or dusk when it was just about light enough for us to see, but dark enough to give us cover against those four-armed bastards. If it was foggy enough, raining or even light snow, I would press the group through daylight hours as well. I had the Exo members of the group hunt whenever we could, and scout ahead for possible danger before we started moving, and before we stopped._

_But as I’ve long learned out here in these wastelands outside City walls: no amount of preparation will ever be enough._

_It was just a few Dregs at first, caught up with us by chance more than anything. Took them out quickly, no problem. Then it was Shanks, more Dregs… next thing we had Vandals sniping at us with their damn wire rifles whenever they could. The Exo scouts made a diversion so I could lead the rest of the group deep into a cave system. Only one of them came back - Natalia-19 - and she was missing an arm below the elbow, severed off by a Dreg before she could kill it and get away._

_“We’re not making it out of this one, are we?” She observed quietly as she helped me seal up the cave entrance with her remaining arm using whatever rubble we could find._

_I said nothing, let my expression betray nothing of the fear I felt in that moment. I wanted to believe, but deep down, I knew this was it. This forgotten cave would be where we would make our last stand, and would be our grave. As soon as those Fallen bugs broke in…_

_I felt a hand rest on my shoulder. Natalia’s softly glowing cyan optics regarded me gently, perhaps even with a faint hint of determination. It was hard to tell with Exos._

_“We are with you, no matter what happens. Sjurn would be proud at how far you got us.”_

_Perhaps, I thought, but was it good enough? I shook my head, pushing her hand from my shoulder._

_“I didn’t get us to the Last City, though.” I answered my Exo companion sullenly._

_“Neither did Sjurn. But just like him, you kept us together. We can take comfort in that, if this is to be our tomb.”_

_I turned away from the cave entrance, not wanting to think about our final, eventual fate. “Come on. We should get back to the others.”_

_Despite the cave’s size, we caught up quickly enough, the group not wishing to go far without me. Despite my best efforts to hide it from them, it was impossible not to feel the sense that our doom was soon coming. We eventually came across some sort of disused underground bunker - a fitting place for a last stand if there ever was one - and we barricaded ourselves in and waited._

_And waited._

_And waited._

_It felt like an eternity before the ground beneath us suddenly shuddered. Explosives to blast away the rubble at the cave entrance, I had no doubt about it. It wasn’t too long after that whenever the first growls and hisses of our enemy started echoing through the cave system. The Fallen were closing in._

_I drew my Hand Cannon, the last weapon I had with any ammo left in it, and anyone left with a weapon and capable of fighting did the same. I flipped the chamber out for a moment, then with a flick of my wrist, snapped it back in again. Six shots left._

_Six shots, and my hunting knife. That’s all I had to take down as many of these bastards as I could before the end. Six bullets and a blade between me, my death and the death of everyone here. Six…_

_“Do you… do you hear that?”_

_Natalia-19’s synthesised voice cut through what I had intended to be my last coherent thoughts before I died. I frowned, but I obliged her, listening, as did everyone else it seemed as the entire room fell silent. No-one even dared to breathe as we heard it._

_Screaming._

_But not just any screaming, no._

**_Fallen_ ** _screaming._

_“What’s going on out there?” Someone dared to ask in a hushed whisper._

_No sooner did those words leave their mouth, two beings crashed into the area outside the bunker, wrestling each other. The dust from the impact obscured much of their identities, but from their silhouettes, the fight appeared to be between a Captain and a humanoid figure as far as I could tell. It wasn’t long before the Captain was thrown to the ground and was impaled by something; the telltale sign of Ether escaping his rebreather mask signifying his demise._

_“It… can’t be…” I muttered in shock and awe, hardly daring to believe as I watched the dust settle._

_Ever since I was a boy, during our earliest attempts to get to the City, I had listened to tales of Guardians. Wielders of the Light, protectors of humanity, the Traveler’s Chosen. The Hunters, survivors of the wilds and tamers of it. The Warlocks, wise, masters of the arcane, scholar-warriors. And the Titans, noble warriors of valour, the ones who had built the Wall piece by piece, they who were a wall themselves and would never fall. Of all the Guardians, it was the Titans that had inspired me the most from a young age; they seemed to be the most heroic, the most willing to put themselves on the line, and the most kindest of all the Guardians._

_I thought all these things, yes… until I saw the Titan who saved us rise from the dust._

_His armour was mismatched, scratched, dented. Parts around his neck and on his arms were covered in furs, and his legs in foliage. His Mark was torn. Rusted claws guarded his knuckles, coated in Fallen blood, as was much of his ivory and rust coloured armour. Glowing eyes shone out of the eye slits in his helmet, staring directly our way. It felt like they were burning into my soul._

_“Is that a… Guardian?” Natalia voiced in a hushed whisper. I simply put my dirt covered fingers over her mouth in response, waiting to see what the Titan would do._

_With a single twisting movement, he wrenched the blade of his weapon out from the Captain’s corpse before seemingly inspecting it. The whole thing was huge, almost as tall as it’s wielder, and appeared to be cobbled together bits of grenade launcher combined with a massive scrap of metal carefully shaped into a curved blade. It looked impossible to lift, but the Titan was quick to sling it on his back like it was nothing before rummaging the Captain’s corpse for anything of use._

_“I’ll scan the area for anything useful.” A Ghost that equally looked like it was made of scraps, and also on fire, soon materialised into view. “Never know what else might be lying down here.”_

_There was a grunt from the Titan, and I watched as he raised the Captain’s wire rifle in the air, shaking it once at his partner._

_“I mean yes, weapons are probably the most useful thing we can find right now, but you never know what-”_

_The Ghost paused, turning to face in the direction of the bunker. Instinctively, I ducked._

_“Hold up. I’m getting signatures down here. Multiple signatures.”_

_The Titan rose sharply, transmatting his crazy grenade launcher creation away in favour of an equally cobbled together auto rifle with what appeared to be four muzzles. He leveled it at the door we were hiding behind, as if prepared to shoot it open, if needed._

_Thankfully, the Ghost floated ahead of him first. Its shell twisted this way and that as it scanned more. Then, it finally saw us all physically._

_“Humans…” It said in awe. “Refugees. Armed. They must have been through a lot.”_

_What sounded like a rather inhuman snarl left the Titan. It was hard to tell, being ducked down, but from what I could hear, it sounded like he was walking away._

_“But we can’t just leave them here! They’ll die without our help! I know you don’t like being a Guardian, but that’s what we are! We can’t roam the world on our own forever…”_

_I holstered my weapon, reaching forward to un-barricade the door before anyone could stop me. Before I knew it, I was face to face with our saviour, pleading for his help._

_“Guardian, you are our last hope. I promised these people I would lead them to safety. I don’t plan on breaking that promise now. Please. We’ve already lost so much.”_

_The Titan’s hands balled into fists. Then he drew the wire rifle he picked up before, throwing it at me with a grunt. I caught the weapon, giving it the once over, before staring at the Guardian once more._

_“What do we call you?” His Ghost asked, drawing close to me._

_“They call me The Refugee.”_

_The Titan grunted again, tilting his head sharply towards the exit he had burst through earlier._

_“Well, Refugee. Tell your people we’re moving. Now. We’ll get you to safety.”_

_I watched as the pair moved off, scouting ahead for any danger. As I went back to the bunker to order everyone out, one thought crossed my mind:_

_Our Titan saviour might have been aloof, might be apathetic, rough and basically the exact opposite of what a Titan was meant to be, but he was still a Guardian when we needed him to be._

_And maybe that’s all that matters._


	2. Always the Quiet Ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A refugee tries to figure out just what the deal is with their newfound Guardian ally.
> 
> Kind of hard to do when he doesn't talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side-note, the Guardian featured in this work in particular is kind of based off Agent Maine/The Meta from Red vs. Blue, for anyone familiar with that series.
> 
> Another side-note, I absolutely believe that there are Guardians out there that resent being chosen. (Looking at you, Drifter.)

**_“Sjurn always used to say to me: ‘Warlocks will do their own thing, watch the Hunters always, and the Titans will watch you. But watch closer the Titans who think they are Hunters, and give a wide berth to the Hunters who think themselves Titans, for the one who is loudest isn’t necessarily most destructive… it is he who is quietest, the one with no eyes on him.’ I was too young and naive to understand what wisdom that old Awoken was trying to impart on me that day, but now, seeing this voiceless Titan before me, fighting alongside him… I think I understand what he meant…”_ ** _ \- The Refugee _

* * *

_ We covered so much more ground daily now with the mute Titan on our side than we ever did striking out on our own. Our supplies were still low, and the wounded among us were still succumbing, but for once, there seemed to be hope. Hope we might make it out of Old Russia alive, and into the EDZ where - with any luck - our sanctuary still awaited us. _

_ Though our Guardian ally was invaluable to us - scouting ahead, scavenging supplies, cutting paths through Fallen territory for us and the like - many still felt uneasy around him. Even I must confess that I shared this feeling. Any attempts to talk with him were met with stony silence and failure. His Ghost would sometimes chat with us, but pretty much everyone had given up trying to communicate with the pair. We let them do their job and the Titan at least, was more than happy to be left to get on with it, uncaring to those around him, or how bloody he was after a fight. _

_ I wasn’t a person who was ever content to leave things be, though. I didn’t expect a life-story from our new ally - I doubted he could give me one anyway - but I at least wanted to know what I was dealing with. He wasn’t like other Titans, nor many other Guardians for that matter. He didn’t seem to be some noble, valorous hero; if anything, he seemed quite the opposite: he wanted nothing to do with us at all. _

_ “What’s your deal?” I asked his Ghost while we camped by a river in a valley, waiting for a blizzard to pass. It had been a few hours and while the walls of the valley meant we weren’t going to die from exposure, sitting doing nothing was hardly a great way to pass time. _

_ “‘My’ your deal or… oh.” The Ghost’s mismatched shell twisted this way and that, his optic winking at me in time with his speech. “You mean my Guardian’s aloofness?” _

_ “He’s not like other Guardians.” I observed quietly. “I mean… yeah, we’re all different ‘n’ all, but even amongst other Guardians, he’s different.” _

_ “You’ve not been around many other Guardians, have you?” The Ghost is quick to call me out. _

_ “No, but the way Sjurn described you lot, there were things you had in common. Y’know, besides wielding the Light.” _

_ The Ghost turned towards his Guardian, who was perched on a boulder a ways from the group, keeping a lookout for any sign of danger. This valley had great cover, but even I was wise enough to know that if anything got in here with us, our camp would turn into a kill zone pretty quick. My eyes trailed in the same direction as the Ghost’s before he turned back to face me once more. _

_ “Not all of us appreciate the gifts we’ve been given.” He spoke low, almost a whisper. _

_ I felt my eyes widen a little. “Sjurn never told me anything like that. He told me there were some who misused their powers, like the Warlords of old or the Dredgen, but never about any Guardians who hated the fact they were one.” _

_ “It is more common than you would believe, and a well kept secret among the Guardians and Ghosts.” The Ghost stated, matter-of-factly. “Better kept than the fact that some Guardians willingly turn to the Darkness.” _

_ “Your Guardian hates being a Guardian?” _

_ “My Guardian resents even the word.” _

_ I let that sink in silently. A few moments passed between us before I spoke again. _

_ “He didn’t even want to help us, did he?” _

_ The Ghost sighed, shell dipping slightly. “No. He did not. He says that baggage slows him down, that he much rather be on his own. Too many people makes us an easy target.” _

_ I raised a battle-scarred eyebrow. “He speaks?” _

_ “Not in a way you would understand.” The Ghost shook from side to side a little, like a person shaking their head. “But we’ve been around each other long enough that verbal communication is entirely unnecessary.” _

_ “You spoke to him when you found us, though.” _

_ “I said it wasn’t necessary. I didn’t say anything about refusing to entertain it when required. Besides, someone needs to translate for him, else none of us would ever get anywhere.” _

_ “Someone clearly takes ‘strong, silent type’ a bit too seriously.” I chuckled. _

_ “Yes, but he has his reasons. Complicated reasons.” The Ghost bobbed up and down a little in agreement. “He… does not like to get into it.” _

_ “Is that why you don’t like sharing names, either?” I asked, rubbing my slowly numbing hands together in an effort to warm them up. Even with gloves on, the frigid air was starting to bite. “It feels odd having a saviour, but not being able to call them by anything.” _

_ “That is… different.” The Ghost turned away, looking towards his Guardian again. “We do not share our names because it makes us harder to track. It also stops us forming attachments to others.” _

_ “Both of you, or just him?” _

_ The Ghost was silent for a full minute. I thought for a moment that I had pushed him too far. An apology started to form on my lips but before I could speak, he continued once more, only this time much more solemnly, and the words died in my throat. _

_ “You… are not the first group of refugees we have come across.” _

_ The Ghost didn’t say it outright, but the inference in his words was clear enough. There had been others before my group, and they hadn’t made it. _

_ “I’m sorry-” My unspoken apology from before tried to leave my lips, but the Ghost whipped around to face me, stopping me short. _

_ “Do not pity us. Pity those that fell.” _

_ I nodded. I did. But even if they didn’t want it, I pitied both Ghost and Titan, too. _

_ “At least you tried. You remind me of Sjurn.” _

_ “You mentioned this ‘Sjurn’ before.” The top of the Ghost’s shell furrowed forward in interest, and he sounded almost grateful for the subject change. “Who is he?” _

_ “Was.” I gently corrected the Ghost, melancholy as the memories came back. “He used to lead us before I took over. Old Awoken, older than any non-Exo I ever knew. He taught me everything I needed to survive. Practically raised me. He could never figure out a name for me when I arrived within the group, so he just stuck with calling me ‘The Refugee Boy’. Everyone just took to calling me The Refugee after that and having no other name for myself the name kinda just… stuck. I miss him.” _

_ “I’m sorry for your loss. He sounds like a good man.” _

_ “The best. I used to think of him as a Guardian myself. Even told myself he’d just rez himself when he died. If only…” _

_ “It sounds like he would be proud of what you are doing here. He could not have named a more worthy successor.” _

_ I gave the Ghost a small smile. It had been hard to live up to, but I knew he was right. _

_ “Thank you.” _

_ Suddenly, a snarl interrupted our talking, and the Ghost’s attention snapped onto his Guardian. _

_ “What was that?” I’m on my feet in an instant, hand instinctively falling to the grip of my Hand Cannon. _

_ Another snarl left the Titan as he got into a crouch, drawing his scraped together Auto Rifle from his back. _

_ “Danger.” The Ghost translated for me. “We need to move, now.” _

_ Before I could give the order, the Titan was already moving, disappearing quickly into the shadows of the valley. I drew my weapon from its holster, just to feel a bit safer. If I got to take out another Fallen with it tonight, even better. _

_ “Get everything packed up.” The Ghost ordered me. “We’ll be back.” _

_ I watched as he floated off after his Guardian, de-materialising in a small shower of Light. I turned to the others, who were quick to sense the change in atmosphere, some having started packing up gear even as I gave the order. _

_ It took about fifteen minutes or so before the whole campsite was packed and every fire was out. Everyone who had a weapon had it drawn as we prepared to make a move. Just as we were about to leave, the Titan came back into view, the soft purple of his Sentinel Shield lighting him - and the fresh bloodstains on his armour - up like an eerie beacon in the night. _

_ He hissed, gesturing us forth with his free arm. _

_ “Danger’s gone now.” His Ghost translated, re-appearing in another shower of Light. “But we still need to move.” _

_ Unlike the first time we’d met, I had heard no screams as the Titan killed, no gunfire, nothing. It was like he had become as ghostly as the Void he now wielded and killed them all without so much as a sound - something I thought only capable of the terrifying Nightstalkers of the wilds.  _

_ Maybe old Sjurn had been right about something. Don’t watch the Hunters; watch the Titan who thinks he’s a Hunter, for most deadly is the one you think is loud, but is actually deathly silent. _

_ Especially one as silent as the one in front of me... _


	3. A Turning Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Names are given.
> 
> But at what cost?

**_“As long as they haven’t strayed from the Light, even the most uncaring Guardian gives a damn. Deep down.”_ ** \- The Refugee

* * *

_ “Hephaestus.” I spoke the name slowly, testing how it sounded on my tongue. I decided I quite liked the sound of it, so repeated it once more. “Hephaestus. Yes.” _

_ “What’s that?” The flaming Ghost with its scrapheap shell that was watching over us turned to me, questioning. _

_ “That’s what I’m calling you both. Hephaestus.” I offered my simple explanation. _

_ “Why?” _

_ “If you hadn’t noticed, I’m getting real tired of saying ‘Hey, you!’ or ‘Big guy’ or ‘Little Light’ every time I want to get your attention. If you’re not gonna give us a name - which I totally get - then I’m at least giving you one.” _

_ “I gathered that.” The Ghost rebuked me, the top of his shell furrowing forward like he was frowning. “I meant, why that name in particular?” _

_ “Oh, well.” I scratched the back of my head awkwardly. “He was some really ancient god of forging. You’re both kinda... cobbled together. He has orange eyes and you’re… well, you’re on fire.” _

_ “Huh.” The Ghost floated back a little in surprise. “Well, I suppose that does make sense, yes. At least for him.” _

_ A grunt interrupted us. The Ghost’s Titan was beckoning me forward from his crouched down position a little ways in front of me. We both approached, keeping low and out of sight, for below us was a Dreg salvage team arguing over pieces of scrap. Beyond them lay a few scattered ruins of old buildings and, beyond that, a vast expanse of pine forest leading up to a huge shard of the Traveler on the horizon. Old Russia was far behind us now. _

_ The Titan grunted again. _

_ “Beyond this lies the forest that marks the western border of the European Dead Zone.” His Ghost translated, his voice a whisper. “At its heart lies a ruined town known only as Trostland. The Church there serves as a rally point for any refugees seeking escape to The Farm. From there, it’s a straight shot to the City.” _

_ “The way you say it, you make it sound like you’re not coming with us.” I pointed out, equally as quiet. _

_ The Titan’s rusty helmet turned to me in a flash, and the orange eyes that lay underneath the eyeslits burned deep into my soul. _

_ “The Last City isn’t a place for us to tread. We can get you there, but that’s not where we belong.” The Ghost explained. _

_ “Right. Touchy subject. Sorry, Hephaestus.” _

_ He tilted his head slightly, seemingly confused, before snarling and snapping back to what was going on below us. _

_ “We’re going to cause a distraction.” His Ghost once more translated for me. “You arm your best men and lead your people around the perimeter.” _

_ I shook my head. “Nat can lead them. I’m coming with you.” _

_ The massive Titan rounded on me then, picking me up effortlessly by the collar of my ragged shirt. A deep, threatening growl left him, amplified by his helmet. _

_ “This isn’t up for debate, Refugee.” His Ghost floated gently between us, causing the Titan to drop me. “You’re not a…” _

_ “A Guardian?” I challenged, looking our saviour dead in the eyes, something I’d never have even contemplated doing weeks ago when he’d found us. _

_ His fists clenched. _

_ “A Risen.” His Ghost corrected me meaningfully. “We did not escort you this far just to fail now.” _

_ “Risen, Guardian, Lightbearer. Whatever you want to call yourself.” I bit back, tiring of the Titan’s attitude towards us. “With respect, Hephaestus, you didn’t even want to help us, so cut the concern. You think I care if I make it to the City? I don’t. I only care that my friends do, or that they live at the very least. Making your job easier so that can happen is the least I can do.” _

_ The Titan’s helmeted face got right into mine. Then he grunted, shook his head, and backed off, leaping off the cliff in front of us. His Ghost sighed. _

_ “Don’t follow us. Seriously.” He winked out of existence after his Guardian. _

_ I slumped back against a rock face behind me, taking a moment to calm down before giving the order to move out towards the area's perimeter. Before I could move however, the familiar one armed form of Natalia-19 stopped me. _

_ “You’re going to follow him, aren’t you?” Her cyan eyes regarded me knowingly. _

_ “If anything happens…” _

_ “I’ll get everyone to safety, Refugee. Don’t you worry about that.” _

_ “Take everyone around the perimeter. Keep out of sight and don’t move until the Fallen are distracted.” I relayed what Hephaestus had told me. “Good luck.” _

_ “You too. Come back alive, Refugee.” _

_ I gave Nat a smile. “Can’t promise that.” _

_ “In that case… give them hell before you go.” _

_ I chuckled, pulling my scarf over my lower face, before sliding down the cliffs after our Guardian ally. As I hit the bottom, it occurred to me I might never see Natalia-19, nor any of my friends, ever again. I might never even see the Last City. But that didn’t matter to me, as long as they made it out and lived to see another day. _

_ I imagined Sjurn felt this way too, perhaps. _

_ I dusted myself off, finding cover behind some large debris, no doubt a remnant of some lost relic from the Golden Age. A distant explosion marked what was surely the distraction the Titan had hoped to cause. As the Fallen and their Shanks scuttled off to investigate, I followed, darting between cover and keeping to the shadows as best as I could. More explosions sounded off as I got closer to my goal. When a Vandal went sailing over my head helplessly, screeching towards his inevitable doom, I knew I was getting close. _

_ I set up in a nearby crevice, taking out the wire rifle that our saviour had given me weeks ago when he’d found us, eying up the battle ahead of me through its scope. On top of a small hill directly in front of me, the Titan was effortlessly shooting, pummeling and throwing Fallen like they were nothing but rag dolls. A lucky shot from a Tracer Shank broke his shields for a moment, but the Titan was quick to grab the machine, delivering a merciless, Void-charged headbutt that shattered it into a thousand pieces. He gazed around, seemingly satisfied, before drawing that crazy auto rifle of his. _

_ I smiled, satisfied as well, preparing to relocate myself, but a flicker in my scope caught my eye. A Fallen Captain came briefly into view, preparing to attack the Titan as he walked away. Without hesitating, I charged up the wire rifle, letting loose a round that staggered the would-be attacker and disrupted his cloak. Hephaestus whirled instantly, striding up to the disoriented Captain to grab him by the throat. A hiss of Ether left him soon after, the Titan having - I presume - crushed the Fallen’s throat. _

_ A low hum of disapproval filled my comms., and the Titan dropped his quarry. _

_ “I thought we told you not to follow us.” His Ghost reminded me over the radio. _

_ “And I thought I told you I don’t give a damn.” I reminded them both back. _

_ A gravelly, jerky sort of grunt filled the comms. then, and it took me a moment to realise the Titan was laughing at me, though I failed to see what was so amusing. _

_ “You’ve got guts.” The Ghost relayed, and I knew that the compliment was from Guardian, not from Ghost. “If you want to stay useful, stay on the lookout for us.” _

_ “That was the plan.” I chuckled back, almost sarcastically. “And Hephaestus? It’s not going to be like before. We’re gonna get these guys back to the City.” _

_ Another hum filled the radio. _

_ “It’s… Meta. And I hope so-” The Ghost’s voice was so soft, I almost wondered if it was the Titan who spoke. I wasn’t left to wonder for long, when the Ghost’s softness turned into a sharp warning. “REFUGEE! LOOK OUT!” _

_ I heard a series of explosions above me, before the roof of the crevice I was hiding in collapsed on top of me. The last thing I heard was what sounded like Hephae-no, Meta roaring. _

_ Then darkness. _


	4. The Foxtrot Movement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Refugee learns more about his mysterious saviour from the most unlikely of sources...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Foxtrot Movement is *very* loosely based off the Freelancers in Red vs. Blue, for those familiar with the show.
> 
> And yes, I headcanon that Exos all have a sort of serial number tied to them. Probably as a way for the boffins behind the Exo Program to keep track of them all originally.

**_“They are the true backbone of the City, despite all appearances. Have no illusion about that.”_ ** _ \- The Refugee. _

* * *

_ I woke up in a bed in an entirely unfamiliar place. I was in some kind of building, and could hear the hustle of people moving about outside. I don’t remember how I got here, but I definitely wasn’t in the wilds anymore. _

_ “Refugee!” The familiar synthesised voice of Natalia-19 greeted me as she leapt up from the chair she was sitting in beside my bed. “You’re finally awake.” _

_ I squinted at her, a little groggy. “How long have I been out?” _

_ “A couple of weeks. The others didn’t think you would make it.” The Exo answered me, letting out a sigh of relief. She clasped my arm with her good hand, her other arm still missing below the elbow. “Even our friend’s Ghost wasn’t hopeful for your survival. His Guardian insisted on bringing you here with us, though.” _

_ “Here?” I frowned, looking around. “You mean… did we make it to the City?” _

_ “A few days ago, yes.” Nat confirmed to me. “The Guardian left us in Trostland, made sure we got some transport to a Farm where all the refugees from the Red War and its aftermath have been gathering. We might have remained there had your condition not worsened beyond their medics’ ability to treat. We got to jump the queue… or, well, some of us did. A few offered to stay behind and help out, earn their ride to the City the ‘proper’ way.” _

_ “Meta isn’t here with us?” I tried not to sound too disappointed by that. He hadn’t exactly seemed keen to come to the City. _

_ “Meta? Oh, you mean the Titan?” Nat tilted her head at me curiously. “No. But his Ghost wanted you to have this. Told me to give it to you if you woke up. I slapped his shell and told him to stop talking like that and his Guardian just laughed at me. Didn’t think him capable.” _

_ Natalia motioned to pull a knife from her belt. I recognised it immediately as my old hunting knife, but sharpened and polished to a new shine. There seemed to be something engraved on the blade, but I didn’t get a good enough look before my Exo friend flipped the weapon in her hand and handed it to me, hilt first. _

_ “I’d best go tell one of the medical Frames you’re awake. They’ll no doubt want to check you over and make sure you’re alright.” _

_ “Nat…” I addressed her, stopping her from leaving. “What happened? I don’t remember a damn thing.” _

_ “You… went after our Guardian friend. Saved his life, from what I hear.” She recounted quietly to me. “Then you got caught in some kind of cave-in. He was so furious, he smashed so many Fallen with his fiery hammer in his rage. We heard his roars from where we were and some of us came to help. By the time we got there, he was digging through a pile of rubble to reach you. It took him hours to free you, barely breathing from the rocks. Whenever he didn’t need to fight, he carried you. All the way to Trostland.” _

_ “I wish I could thank him.” My gaze fell down towards the knife I had been given. _

_ “We all do, but not all heroes are big on being thanked. He reminds me of Sjurn, in a way.” _

_ I couldn’t have agreed more, but did not voice this as Nat finally left me alone. I gazed around me, but couldn’t really get a good look at anything outside the room I was in, so turned my attention to my knife, eyes immediately falling to the blade. As I thought, there was something engraved in it: on one side, a message, from Meta perhaps? And the other side, the letters FXXIV, followed by M-37-4. I had no idea what the first set of letters meant, but the second set of letters and numerals I recognised as an alternate spelling of ‘Meta’. I returned my attention back to the message. _

_ “The Exo said this was important to you. Not big on words. Prefer to let my actions talk for me. But you changed my views on… well, a lot. Thank you... for making me believe again. Didn’t think I ever could.” _

_ Meta was… thanking me? It didn’t seem right that he could thank me, but I not him. I knew, as soon as I was able to go out into the City on my own, that I had to find him somehow. _

_ Thankfully, I was discharged a few hours later once assessments and tests verified I was okay to leave. Much of the City was still being repaired from the damage caused during the Red War, even now, so there wasn’t really many places for refugees to go. Natalia-19 had, during my coma, secured herself a low end apartment with the last of her Glimmer, so I decided to stay with her for the time being. It wasn’t the best, but it was better than nothing. _

_ Between helping other refugees and the rebuilding effort, I took time to ask everyone I met about Meta, but no-one had seemed to have heard of him. Eventually, I took my questions to the Tower courtyard, but was met with the same lack of answers. I decided maybe questioning people about the strange letters engraved on my knife would be better, and my hunt for answers led me to the old Tower’s gunsmith, Banshee-44. _

_ “Don’t think I’ve seen you ‘round here before, have I?” He greeted me, tinkering with some kind of SUROS-made auto rifle. _

_ “No, I’ve just recently arrived from outside the City.” I assured the Exo gunsmith, before getting down to business. “I was hoping you might be able to help me with something.” _

_ “If it’s related to weapons or mods, sure.” Banshee’s blue optics briefly looked up from his work, before he resumed tinkering again, this time polishing up the rifle. “I can tell you ‘bout almost anything to do with guns. Most of the time, anyway.” _

_ “Most of the time?” I raised an eyebrow. _

_ “Memory’s not as good as it used to be.” _

_ My shoulders dropped a little. My best lead was an Exo with memory issues? Thankfully, the gunsmith didn’t seem to notice my despair or, if he did, he paid it no mind as he continued to work. _

_ “I was hoping you could take a look at this for me.” I drew my knife, offering it to Banshee hilt first.  _

_ The Exo was quick to down tools, tilting his head at me curiously as he accepted the weapon from me. “Huh. Haven’t seen one of these in a while. Dreg hunting knife. Inscribed. How’d you come by this?” _

_ “It was a gift from… well, I guess you could almost call him my adopted father. The message is… personal. From a friend of mine. I was more interested in the letters and numbers on the other side.” _

_ Blue and orange fingers twisted the blade around carefully, flipping it over. “FXXIV, M-37-4? Looks almost like some sort of serial code if I didn’t know better.” _

_ “What do you mean?” _

_ “Not sure what the first part means, but that second part? M-37-4? Yeah, that’s an Exo identification number. All of us’ve got one. Each unique.” _

_ “So… I’m looking at someone’s signature here?” I surmised out loud. _

_ “Mhm, pretty much, yeah.” Banshee nodded, handing the knife back to me. “In a manner of speaking. Find out the name of the Exo from the ID number, you find your guy.” _

_ “I thought those kinds of records were lost after the Collapse, though.” _

_ “Probably, yeah. Heard a few bits survive here and there though, if you know where to look. Wouldn’t recommend it though, if you’ve got a better way of looking for your friend.” _

_ “Actually…” I looked thoughtful for a moment. “My friend, he’s a Guardian, a Titan. Not one for the City, though.” _

_ “I’ve heard some Guardians are like that, yeah. Mostly Hunters though.” Banshee hummed quietly. “Guardians out in the wilds, helpin’ refugees… if anyone would know ‘bout that, it’d be Hawthorne. She acts as the go-between for the refugees and the Guardians here in the City.” _

_ “Where can I find her?” _

_ “Follow the path past here to the bazaar. She’s normally never too far from Ikora, the Warlock Vanguard.” _

_ I offered the Exo gunsmith a smile, before dipping my head slightly in respect. “Thank you for the information, Banshee.” _

_ “G’luck findin’ your friend.” _

_ I continued on my way, following the path out of the courtyard and to the bazaar. On a small balcony of sorts up a flight of stairs, I spied the Warlock Vanguard talking with another woman in a bright blue and red poncho that I could only assume was this Hawthorne that Banshee had been referring to. On my approach, the falcon on the perch next to both women regarded me cautiously, before letting out a small chirp and ruffling its feathers at me. _

_ I froze. Both women turned to face me in an instant, eyes regarding me carefully. _

_ “It’s alright. Most people are a little intimidated by Louis when they first see him, but the guy’s softer than his feathers, trust me.” Hawthorne chuckled, offering an arm to the bird in question, and he happily relocated with a flutter of his wings. “New around the City, aren’t you?” _

_ I nodded. “Banshee told me to look for you. Said you might be able to help me with an issue I’m having.” _

_ “Always happy to help out another refugee.” Hawthorne gave me a warm smile, offering her falcon a small morsel of raw meat before settling him back on his perch. “What’s troubling you?” _

_ I didn’t answer immediately, eying up the Warlock Vanguard, Ikora Rey, warily. Most people would have excused themselves from an interrupted conversation by now, but she remained, arms folded behind her back, gaze never leaving mine. It was almost like she knew this conversation was going to be greater than how I had initially presented it. It was mildly unnerving. _

_ “Is it true you get Guardians helping out with your operations sometimes?” _

_ Hawthorne let out a dry chuckle, as if the answer to that was obvious. But she humoured me, nonetheless. “They don’t really call me the civilian-Guardian liaison for nothing, you know? I get a few Guardians come down from the City to help out at the Farm every so often. Fireteams helping to evac refugees, that kind of thing.” _

_ I shook my head. “I mean… non-City Guardians. The ones that live out there in the wilds.” _

_ I felt Ikora shift, and Hawthorne raised an eyebrow at me. “Sometimes. Not normally directly, though, not since the Guardians all got their Light back, at least. Knew a few of them on a first name basis.” _

_ “Ever met a Titan called Meta?” I asked directly, not wishing to skirt around the question any longer. “He left me a message, and I’m trying to find him.” _

_ I drew my knife, showing both sides of the blade to Hawthorne, but she could only shake her head. _

_ “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of that name.” _

_ “Nor I.” Ikora spoke at last, taking a closer look at my hunting knife for herself, almost startling me. “But that symbol on the back of the blade? I’ve seen it before. Or, something similar to it at least.” _

_ “What is it?” _

_ But the Warlock shook her head. “I can’t guarantee your safety if you know that information and decide to follow up on it.” _

_ “With respect, I’ve spent most of my life living outside City walls. I travelled the entirety of Old Russia just to get here. I can handle myself.” _

_ “Of course, I meant no disrespect.” Ikora gestured a palm towards me. “I was merely warning you of just what you’re getting yourself into before you dive in unprepared.” _

_ “So, the symbols?” _

_ “They are part of an identification system used by a group of… some would call them renegade, Guardians here in the City.” She explained to me. “They were originally known as the Freelancers, as they were a group of bounty hunters, working for all originally. Eventually, there was a turn, and they became known as the Foxtrots, both after their leader’s callsign, and as a term of insult that they would wear as a badge of pride. No-one has heard from them for well over a year now. We had assumed they had disbanded, but now I’m left wondering…” _

_ “Could the Foxtrots really be back?” Hawthorne asked. _

_ “Or perhaps they never left. I’m not sure what’s worse.” _

_ I frowned, not understanding what was so bad about this group. If Meta was a part of it, and he’d saved me, then surely they couldn’t be all that bad? _

_ “Meta saved me. If he’s one of them, then I guess they’re not all bad?” _

_ “They’re not bad as in evil, at least that’s how I heard it, anyway.” Hawthorne corrected me, shaking her head. “It’s more like, they disagree with the Vanguard.” _

_ “Specifically, they disagreed with how we handled Cayde’s - the former Hunter Vanguard’s - death.” Ikora elaborated quietly. “I suspect they would overthrow Zavala and I if they had the resources to do so, as well as the support. But it would cause too much collateral damage, and the Foxtrots have never been too big on that, even before their turn.” _

_ “I don’t suppose either of you know where to find them?” _

_ “As I said, everyone thought they were disbanded.” Ikora reminded me. “No-one knows where they are for certain. But I’ve seen that look enough times from Hunters that liked to dive into the fray to know that a lack of information isn’t likely to stop you from digging anyway, despite the dangers. So I’ll tell you only what I’ve heard - they were said to have operated out of the ruins of the old Tower at one point, no doubt to drive home their point about the Vanguard. Officially, no-one has been inside since it fell. We don’t even know if the Tower is structurally sound, nor if the Red Legion hid any surprises within it before their defeat.” _

_ “Then I’ll be careful.” I sheathed my knife back in its loop on my belt. _

_ “I admire your determination. But don’t let it be your undoing. If you die in there, or get caught by Zavala or his City patrols, neither of us are going to be able to help you.” _

_ I believed her. Neither would be a pleasant experience. So I waited until dusk, just as the patrol shifts were due to change over. Sneaking through the hangar to get to the old Tower was tough, but I eventually made it to the ruined structure. Carefully, I entered it. _

_ Inside was dark, but my eyes were used to long night stakeouts, so they quickly adjusted to the lack of light. I drew the wire rifle Meta had given me what seemed like a lifetime ago, picking my way through the charred ruins of the building. Even now, the air here still smelled smokey like the Red Legion had only rolled through moments ago. Only the noises of the City outside could prove otherwise. _

_ “Well, well. What do we have here?” _

_ The voice startled me, causing me to whirl around, weapon raised. In a split second, I was disarmed by the expert stroke of a blade. _

_ “Let’s not do anything rash, hm?” The blade withdrew, snaking back into the darkness. “Weapons on the ground, there’s a good little bird. And if you even think about drawing that hand cannon on me, you can say goodbye to that hand.” _

_ I seriously considered it. But I unholstered the weapon silently, complying. As I placed my hand cannon on the ground, I quickly drew my hunting knife, throwing it towards where I thought the owner of the voice was. _

_ Instead of finding my mark, she caught it with a grunt. A single, bright green point of light stared at me from the shadows. _

_ “You really thought you were going to out-knife a Hunter, the experts with knives?” The voice mocked, setting the blade on fire with Solar Light before twisting the weapon this way and that, dancing it between her fingers.  _

_ As the Hunter did, the flames revealed some of her features. She appeared to be wearing two leather jackets: one zipped up and sleeved, and the outer one sleeveless and undone. Her left arm, the better lit of the two, appeared to be covered in bones, some of which were plated with red metal. Her right had some kind of bracer on it with what appeared to be a sheathed knife tied to it. Her right shoulder was covered by what looked like to be a 3-layer sode. Belts of ammunition wrapped around her hips and upper thigh and her left boot tapped the floor, the spur on its heel clinking against the crate she was sat on. The Hunter’s right foot appeared to be a prosthetic, though with the darkness and the way she was sat, I couldn’t be certain. A single green eye glowed out from underneath her bird-like helmet, hidden underneath the hood of her cloak. _

_ “You startled me.” I told her, eventually finding my voice. “I have a right to defend myself.” _

_ “I startled you.” The Hunter repeated back, deadpan. “You walked into my territory, armed no less. What were you expecting to find in here?” _

_ “Never hurts to be prepared.” I explained, avoiding her question entirely. _

_ She scoffed. “You sound like an outsider.” _

_ I straightened a little. “I am.” _

_ My knife stopped its little dance in her fingers and she gripped it by its hilt, pointing the tip of its blade at me. “Do you even know what you’re walking into, little bird?” _

_ “Would I be here if I didn’t?” I challenged. _

_ “No, but do you REALLY know what you’re walking into?” _

_ “I need your help. Ikora said you’d be able to help me.” _

_ The Hunter rose to her feet suddenly, approaching me slowly, almost threateningly. _

_ “Ikora doesn’t know shit!” She jabbed her right forefinger at me angrily, before gazing off to the side. “The Vanguard think they rule the City, but we are its true backbone! But… better her than that coward who calls himself a Titan, Zavala. He’d have probably ordered you to kill me if he knew I was still here. Even so… people don’t walk into Foxtrot territory and get to make demands of us.” _

_ “I could have taken Ikora’s information and told Zavala, you know.” _

_ “You still could.” The Hunter pointed out to me. _

_ “Ikora trusted me not to. I doubt she would have told me about this place otherwise.” _

_ “She always was too sympathetic for her own good.” The Hunter’s voice softened. “But you’re right; she wouldn’t have told you if she sensed you had ill intentions. So, what did you want to know?” _

_ “I’m looking for one of your people. Meta.” _

_ “Meta?” The flames on the blade fizzled out in time with the Hunter’s surprise. “Well… Light be damned.” _

_ She backed away from me, sinking slowly back down onto her crate. My gazed followed as best it could in the low light. _

_ “You know him?” I pushed gently. _

_ “The Meta is a very old name. And, depending on who you ask, a very hated name. How the hell do you know him? He’s supposed to be dead.” _

_ “He saved my life.” I quietly explained to the Hunter. “Or… someone who used that name did. He left a message with me, on that knife.” _

_ The Hunter’s single optic scanned the blade, then flipped it over. “He was one of my people, yes, but he left us some time ago. He hated the City, hated being a Guardian. Coming back here after leaving during the Red War was hard for him. I considered him a lost cause. But, if he’s using his old callsign to sign-off messages… then perhaps I was wrong about him. And about him being dead.” _

_ The Hunter handed me back my knife, hilt first. I accepted it back carefully, expecting it to still be hot, but it was surprisingly cold to the touch. _

_ “I was wrong about you, too.” The Hunter admitted to me, barely audible. “He must have thought highly of you to think you worth saving. Maine doesn’t trust so easily.” _

_ “Maine?” I questioned. “I thought his name was Meta.” _

_ “That’s what we called him, after his Exo ID number, to distance him from us. Later, he put an article in front of it, became THE Meta technically. He no longer saw himself as a person, but as a thing. I guess we all sort of did that to ourselves eventually. But before that, he was Maine.” _

_ My curiosity got the better of me. “So what do they call you, then?” _

_ “Now? Hunt.” The Hunter chuckled. “I know, sounds real original, right? It’s not short for Hunter, though. Short for Huntingdon, but that’s too much to say in a sentence. So, Hunt.” _

_ “I’m Refugee.” I offered, seeing as we were introducing ourselves. “Well, The Refugee, if we’re being proper about it.” _

_ “Very on the nose, too. I like it.” _

_ “You can blame my adoptive father. So, about Meta…” _

_ “You want to find him.” Hunt rose once more, coming into the little light that illuminated the room. “Trust me, now that we know he’s alive, so do we.” _

_ Another Hunter dropped down from the ruined ceiling and a Warlock floated down gently, both landing either side of Hunt. How long had they both been hiding in the shadows for? _

_ “It’s time for the Foxtrots to rise again, I think.” Hunt declared defiantly. “The City needs reminding who it truly owes its allegiance to. We’ve spent far too long hiding in the shadows, when we should be helping the people, as Meta has done. You wish to find him, do you not? To thank him, I have no doubt. Perhaps helping us could go some way towards that.” _

_ Thanking the Meta was one thing, but helping his people? Perhaps it would be a better form of repayment. But I had my doubts. _

_ “I’m not a Guardian.” I pointed out. _

_ “You were not forged in Light, no.” The Warlock spoke, her voice soft compared to Hunt’s synthetic sounding one. “But you were forged in the Wilds. Your strength comes from hardship, pain, sacrifice; the true things that make up a Guardian. Not the Light.” _

_ I nodded. Guardians didn’t exactly have the monopoly on sacrifice. “My people could help, too.” _

_ Hunt nodded, before turning to her fellow Guardians. “Put the call out. The Foxtrots are back in business.” _

_ All three Guardians leapt up into the shadows above us, leaving me alone to wonder just what I had gotten myself into… _


End file.
